


Eight Nights: A Hanukkah Story

by hornblowerfic_archivist



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Graphic Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-21
Updated: 2009-07-21
Packaged: 2018-05-23 15:42:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6121331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hornblowerfic_archivist/pseuds/hornblowerfic_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Earl of Edrington falls for the nanny of a visiting family only to discover that she is hiding a secret or two, of faith and of consequence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Night One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Hornblowerfic.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hornblowerfic.com). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in January 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [Hornblowerfic.com collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hornblowerfic/profile).

Rupert Frederic Danvers-Black, Earl of Edrington, cut a striking image against the pure soft-fallen snow as he rode like a man possessed upon his midnight colored steed, Revenge. He could see the garish carriage pulling up before Edrington, the stately manor that lay upon the grounds of Couragefield Park, the Edrington's ancestral dwelling. His father, the Duke of Edrington would be very cross with him for he had promised the stern elder man that he would be back before the arrival of old familial friends, the Anacombes.

He could see the look of quiet anger on his father's face as he galloped up, halting Revenge and dismounting the faithful creature. "And here he is now!" he heard the shrill voice of Lady Anacombe, the Viscount Derby's third wife and the youngest of them all. She looked barely older than her own stepdaughter, Lucia, Rupert mused and then, wincing, remembered that the young Lucy would be all over him as usual which was a great deal of his own doing as he had bedded her two years ago when he had had quite too much spirits. He's learned to control his alcohol intake since then. "Speak of the Devil," said Lady Hortense Anacombe coyly. Rupert raised his eyebrows at her flirtatious tone; the slag probably fancied him, he thought with the taste of disgust filling his mouth.

"Oh, RUUUUUU-pert!" called Lucia in absolute joy, pushing past her parents to intertwine her arm with his. "I was sooooo happy when mummy and daddy told me we would be spending Christmastide with you! I was absolutely off my head, wasn't I mummy?!"

Rupert didn't hear Lady Anacombe's response for he was momentarily entranced by the appearance of another young woman. She was simply dressed; her thick, curled hair pulled back practically not ornately, her tall slender body hunched over awkwardly for her height was most unusual for a woman. Her teeth were slightly crooked which made her smile all the more enchanting and though she held none of the great beauty of Lucia, she was alluring in her own way. She held on tightly to Dickie, Lord and Lady Anacombe's youngest child's tiny hand clutched in her own. Her soft hazel-brown eyes avoided contact. Could this be another only lately discovered illegitimate of Anacombe's?

"Quite the comely little bit, isn't she?" Derby said in an undertone to Rupert, noticing the direction of his interest. "Our nursemaid, Rebecca," he informed him. "A real find. So desperate for work was she, she took salary at half of what we paid our last." This made Rupert angry but he didn't know why. "In addition, she keeps her mouth rightly shut, if you know what I mean." The large, burly yet somehow elegant man added with a sly wink of his icy blue eye. Rupert was now thoroughly sickened by the implication.

"Do come inside," Declan, the Duke of Edrington, said jovially, "No need to stand out here and frost over. Come, we've the hall all decorated!"

Indeed, the grand home was decorated in the colors of the season; the white and crimson of the holly berries and the greens of their ivy and leaves. No matter the size of the home, and it was impressive indeed for theirs was an old title, it always felt warm, comfortable, reflected Rupert. "Deeeeeeeee-lightful!" squealed Lucia, tugging on her stepmother's arm. "Isn't it, mummy?"

"Indeed!" echoed Hortense. "Simply lovely!"

"Why does your nursemaid go with your servants?" Rupert asked abruptly, noticing Rebecca retreating with the ladies' maids and the valet. "Does she not deserve the privilege of joining us in the drawing room?"

"She's deadly private," explained Lucia, still attached firmly to Rupert's arms. "Spends evenings by herself in her chamber. Honestly, Rupie," she giggled, hugging him tighter to her, "Do stop gawping after her; one might start to think something quite improper!"

Rebecca settled cozily into the surprisingly splendid closet she had been given adjoining Dickie's nursery, removing her boots and curling up upon the thick patchwork quilt of the low sleigh bed, a candle burning steadily at the bedside, embers on the hearth. She left the shutters open so she could gaze upon the moonlit, snow-blanketed fields, the frost sparkling in the twilight like diamonds. The room was private, wonderfully far from Lord Anacombe's and she doubted the old sod would risk being caught out by sneaking across the entire household. Glancing around almost guiltily, she drew one of her plain black bags onto the bed with her and removed an object careful wrapped in a cloth.

'Dearest Rebekah,' her eyes traced the well-worn lines of the note that accompanied the package. 'Let it always be a light in dark times. I am very proud of you. Mozel Tov, Mama.' It had been the last letter she had ever received from her mother, she died two months later.

Unfolding the cloth reverently, she revealed a small, well looked after brass candelabrum. She removed nine tallow candles, lighting one, the sharnash, with the room candle. Chanting softly in Hebrew, she placed the menorah upon her bedside table, placing a candle in the first of the eight branches and lighting it with the sharnash. The first night of Chanukah. Tomorrow she would send what little she could to her sisters to make the best of the festival as they could, she had been saving now for three months hoping it would be enough to cheer their spirits. She blew out the candles after only a quarter of an hour for they melted faster than real wax ones would have done and she could not afford better; the nine she had had to last her eight nights.

A small mantle clock perched upon the tiny tin fireplace struck midnight as she as she snuggled beneath the bed coverings. What a delightful place Couragefield was, she thought to herself, her head sinking into the feather pillow.

And what delightful people the Edringtons were, showing more than just courtesy to someone of her station but genuine warmth. Duke Edrington was so handsome she thought with a smile, the streaks for silver in his platinum hair accentuating the straight, elegant lines of his face. And his sons, especially the eldest, Rupert! He had gazed at her with such intensity as she had exited the barouche, allowing her to see so deeply into the almost onyx depths of his dark eyes. He had such a commanding air about him, it was no wonder he had just been promoted to major in His Britannic Majesty's service, or so she had heard Lucia boasting. She smiled, remembering a pleasant fiction she had once read of a lowly servant seduced by the Lord of the manor. Her own experience had not turned out as the story had but it made for an arousing fantasy when she thought on Rupert Edrington with his tightly restrained curls of flaxen and the thin line of his wry smile. He was slightly arrogant perhaps, spoilt, used to being in command; nothing the gentle influence of a sweet, honest woman would fail to temper. Not that he'd ever end up marrying one. No, he was far more likely to end up with someone like Lucia: pretty on the outside but not much else to recommend.

Still, it did make a nice dream. Her hand had snaked beneath the quilt and, massaging the taut shaft of her clitoris, she found bliss with the image of the handsome young Earl in her mind.


	2. Night Two

"Remind me again," Rupert sighed in an undertone to his mother, trying to keep his patience as he leaned against the mantelpiece, "why we are putting up with this." The parlor was full of chatting guests, friends, and relatives come to wish the Anacombes a well seasontide, taking in holiday spirits and gossiping happily. It was through their distraction that he had been able to escape the clinging Lucia, who had to all intents and purposes attached herself to his side.  
  
"Do you think I enjoy the company of that insufferable woman?" his mother, still comely at her age with a regal air about her, replied, sending Lady Anacombe a small polite wave across the room. "Viscount Derby's first wife was your father's cousin and as such we have an obligation to entertain. I like it no more than you," she told him, gently taking his hand and squeezing softly. She straightened herself, regaining her outwardly noble composure. "Do do me a favor, my love? I have been meaning to pay Mrs. Harrow a visit and collect from her the Christmas pudding she bestows upon us each year but with our visitors, have not found the time. Be a dear and go in my stead. You can hitch the sleigh to Revenge."  
  
A grin broke out over Rupert's fair, refined features as he realized what she was doing for him. Though social calls were not high on his list of pleasurable activities, he much preferred the unassuming Mrs. Harrow and particularly her three lovely, young and voluptuous daughters to this crowd. "You are brilliant, mamah," he praised her, placing a kiss on top of her golden head. "I don't suspect I'll be back before nightfall."  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
"Ah ha!" Rebecca cried in victory as she lifted the soft white linen tablecloth of the buffest sidebar and, bending over, peered under it. Gazing in she discovered, to her surprise, not just her ward, little Dickie, who had decided it had been a lovely time to play hide and go seek, but also a fair haired girl of around six or seven. From her complexion and bearing, Rebecca guessed she was an Edrington. "I believe you've found something I've been searching for," she laughed.  
  
The girl smiled impishly, holding her fingers, entwined with string, up for Rebecca to see. "I was teaching him cat's cradle," she said airily, "and trying to get away from all the adults who like to pinch cheeks and say how much I've grown in the past year. My name's Dorothea. What's yours?"  
  
"Rebecca," said the older woman, tucking her legs under her body as she slid beneath the table to join them. "And I think I fancy the idea of hiding as well."  
  
"You have lovely hair, Rebecca," Dorothea told her enthusiastically, taking a handful of the loose curling tresses in her hand and petting it with interest. "My brother thinks so, too; I heard Rupert speak of it." Rebecca turned a deep shade of scarlet; had the Earl really talked about *her*?  
  
"Do you not want to go out to play?" asked Rebecca, eager to change the subject. "It seems such a dreadful waste of such wonderful snow for it to go unplayed in." Both Dickie and Dorothea's eyes lit up. Rebecca grinned, winking at them, "Well, go on! Get your gear on then before we simply wither away from boredom!"  
  
The snow was wonderful, almost knee deep in the places it was soft enough to sink into it. Several times Rebecca had to rescue Dickie as the poor little thing had begun to sink beneath the surface of the sparkling white covering. Their laughter echoed across the empty field as Rebecca taught them how to make snow angels, build a fort, and have a snowball war. They were having so much fun; they barely noticed the dropping temperature or the darkening sky bruising purple and gray with twilight. They had wandered far from the manor house now, running and rolling in untouched meadows of white when Rupert's voice, carried loudly and clearly like thunder on the sharp air, startled them back to reality.  
  
"What have we here?" his voice was dry, sardonic. "Have I stumbled across some otherworldly spirits? Speak, o spirits of the winter frost!"  
  
Appalled, Rebecca struggled to her feet, desperately trying to brush the crystals from her terribly disheveled hair. How long had he been there watching them? The snow must have muffled Revenge's tracks as well as the gentle gliding of the sleigh that was hitched to the stallion. "M-m-my Lord," she stuttered, "we, that is to say I..."  
  
"Well?" he urged as Revenged nickered impatiently. "Did you plan on walking all the way to London or have you just gotten lost?" It was then, with mortification, that Rebecca realized just how far they had strayed from the estate house. It was a good thing her cheeks were already a rosy red from the weather as it hid the deep flush that covered her face now.  
  
"Stop bullying her, Rupert!" Dorothea said sternly, putting her hands on her hips, her face a perfect echo of the easy authority both her father and her brother exhibited. She then stuck her tongue out at him and threw a snowball, which he narrowly avoided.  
  
To Rebecca's surprise, he laughed, a truly amused sort of sound. She liked it and found herself wishing she could hear it more often. "So, that is Dodo underneath there," he teased, squinting his eyes at the tiny mass of tangled golden curls and ice crystals. "Well, get in all of you," he nodded towards the empty seats in the small sleigh beside himself. "It's getting terribly cold and I absolutely will not hear of you walking back on your own." Dorothea climbed into the sleigh at her brother's left side and, blushing, Rebecca was huddled to Rupert's right side, Dickie dozing off on her lap. He draped a blanket over the lot of them and snapped the reins, urging Revenge onwards.  
  
"I didn't mean to keep them so long," Rebecca stared down at her hands as she apologized. "I must have lost my direction and I obviously lost track of time. The children were having so much fun..."  
  
"As they should have done," he interrupted, quirking a small smile in her direction. "I imagine they were mad with boredom back at the manor. I myself found my own escape," he indicated the sleigh. Poor thing was nervous as a rabbit, Rupert noted, guiltily remembering how he had halted Revenge in silence and observed their play unnoticed. She had been so open, so natural, smiling as she chased the two small figures. She was beautiful, radiant. He ought to watch himself just as Lucia had warned, for the memory of her, now fixed in his mind forever, his snow angel, inflamed the stirrings of stimulation within his groin, the delicious tightening in his lower belly and at the base of his spine. Did she really think him a bully? Damn him, his taciturn nature! "I think it was a lovely thing you did," he told her and was happy to see her smile a little. "He's an cherub, how old is he?" he asked glancing down at Dickie.  
  
"He'll be five in the springtime," she said proudly, brushing her hand through the child's soft black hair.  
  
"Five?!" said Edrington incredulously. "But Derby and Hortense have only been married for four...Indeed," was his only comment, one fair eyebrow raised in amusement.  
  
"Indeed," echoed Rebecca.  
  
"How long have you been with...them?" he inquired.  
  
"About six years now," Rebecca explained. "I was Lucia's governess before Dickie was born."  
  
"It must be difficult," he observed with palpable distaste, "working with such a family. Could you not find another position?" He was staring at her again, the heat of those remarkable eyes boring into her like a caress. "I'm sorry, it is none of my affair," he said softly in a tone that made her want to confess to him everything, to collapse in his arms and never leave them again. She dared meet his gaze for a moment and his heart set a-flare by the sadness and longing he saw there, as well as the admiration she held for him and the hope that perhaps it was mutual. He wanted to lean forward right then and there and except the invitation of her gently parted rosy lips, to kiss her. He took her hand in his, daring to believe her heart was racing as quickly as his own, tenderly stroking her palm with his thumb. Her fingers were long and slender; he wondered what they'd feel like against his lips, imagining tracing their shape with his tongue. "Are you enjoying our visit?" he asked, impulsively lifting his arm and brushing a snowflake from her hair.  
  
"Indeed, milord," she blushed, showing him that radiant smile of hers. "I find the company q-q-q-quite to my liking."  
  
Revenge came to a sudden standstill, jolting all in the sleigh as they realized they had reached the stables. Rebecca gave Rupert a bashful smile as she lifted Dickie into her arms and departed from the vehicle. Bugger, Rupert thought. "Are you in love with her?" Dorothea asked.  
  
By the time Rebecca had reached the house with Dickie in her arms, Rupert had caught her up, his long, powerful legs taking effortlessly elegant and determined strides, his hands locked firmly at the small of his back, up the ice slickened path. Of course, she thought, he'd have a groom do the work for him, though it seemed to her that he had stayed long enough to see that Revenge had been well taken care of. "Let me help you with your things," he offered as they reached the warming comfort of the kitchen. He shrugged off his own greatcoat gracefully before helping her unravel her long woolen scarf. "You're freezing," he said, his surprisingly warm hands, slipping inside the collar of her coat as she unbuttoned it and gently touching the cold, damp skin at the back of her neck, stroking in the most toe-curling, tingly manner. "Shall I get you a drink?"  
  
"No, thank you really but I should get Dickie to bed," she told him, indicating the sweet little figure curled into a sleepy ball in the chair she had placed him in. An object caught on her coat as she removed it and she felt her precious necklace tear from around her neck and fall to the fall with a barely audible clink. Luckily, Edrington had not noticed as his back was to her at the moment and she was able to snatch up the small gold Star of David, which had landed fortuitously close to her foot. She did not see the chain. "Maybe...maybe some other time though?" she queried timidly. When he smiled and agreed, she found a glow like the sun growing within her breast. After all, why shouldn't he fancy her? She was not unpleasant to be around, at least she didn't think so, agreeable, not wholly unattractive. He most certainly didn't fancy Lucia despite her delusions to the contrary, and he had shown her more than passing interest. He didn't seem the kind who pinched the parlor maid's bottom though, she thought with a grin, he certainly had his rakish qualities.  
  
Saying her goodnights, she retired with a drowsy heavy Dickie in her arms. Rupert watched as she ascended the stair, a flutter of a smirk kissing the corner of his mouth. She was absolutely captivating; so unpretentious and handsome in an unassuming way. To pursue her though... He could bed her easily, of that he was sure, but, though it would be momentarily satisfying, he could not do that to her, he would not. Somehow, in his heart, he knew that he would not only hurt her but himself if he carried out this flirtation's natural path. Still, he could not even ponder ignoring her presence for the next week; the thought made his heart do a turn. There had rarely been a woman whose company he so sought; he scarcely knew her but he knew at that moment he loved her. As absurd as it sounded, he wanted merely to talk with her to be in her company; no, not to fuck her but to make love to her, not just to her body but to her everything. What was he thinking? This was illogical and ridiculous!  
  
Unexpectedly, something clicked beneath his boot. He reached down and, frowning, found a thin gold chain under his heel. The clutch was broken, snapped. From the look of it, it must have been Rebecca's; treasured and well taken care of despite its rather cheap quality. He thought he had seen her look around the floor as if she had lost something. He had just begun to climb the narrow kitchen stairwell when a thought occurred to him: he could give it to her now and watch her cheerful countenance darken with unhappiness for the condition it was in with its clasp shattered and the finish soiled by his boot or he could have it fixed and polished. He imagined the look on her face as he presented it to her, her features brightening so innocently and amiably, as they were pleasantly wont to do, in gratitude of his thoughtfulness. Yes, he decided, curling his fist around the chain, that course of action was definitely the most pleasurable.


	3. Night Three

It was a short ride into the village carried on Revenge's sturdy back. Rupert stopped the horse in front of a small but exclusive shop; he knew that replacing the simple clasp of the broken chain and giving it a polish would be a straightforward task for the local jeweler.

"Wouldn't milord rather buy his lady a nice shiny 'new' chain instead?" suggested the jeweler, looking at the condition of the necklace. Even though the merchant had tried to talk him into buying a new piece for the lovely lady it belonged to, Rupert had declined. He guessed rightly that it meant something to her, something beyond the weight of an extravagant new pure gold replacement. It was the kind of thing that one kept close to them because its value was in their hearts, not in its quality. Tucking the small blue velvet packet in the pocket of his greatcoat, he rode back to Couragefield, anxious to get a moment alone with Rebecca.

Noticing her son's odd and unusually lively behavior, Lady Edrington took him aside just before they descended from the first floor drawing room to dine. "What has gotten into you?" she asked, though perhaps, she thought wryly to herself, the more appropriate question would be 'Whom have you gotten yourself into?'

"Nothing, mamah," he said, his face a perfect façade of angelic innocence and virtue. "Can I not join in the spirits of the season as well?"

"Mmmmmm," Lady Alicia smiled secretly, "that act may fool your father... Whomever she is, it makes my heart glad to see you so contented. So long as it is not that dreadful Lucia girl," she added dryly as almost an after thought.

Lucia babbled away to him all throughout supper but he paid her no heed; she was prattling on about the fashions of London or some such nonsense that neither concerned nor interested him in the least. He escaped as soon as he could, having a quick cigar with the other men in the library before retiring to his chambers. He ran a hand over his hair, making sure it was tightly and neatly secured in its strict queue, and straightened his green frock coat in the mirror before setting off towards the nursery or, more accurately, the room adjoining the nursery.

Rebecca, sitting cross-legged upon her bed, lit the third candle with the sharnash, chanting softly as she did so, when a knock sounded, startling her out of her religious revelry. He wouldn't dare, she thought, her heart leaping into her throat, not here! The cheeky bastard! Suddenly self-conscious of her own body, she threw a wrap over her already thick wool nightdress, agonizingly aware of the shape of her small, supple round breasts under the heavy material as if they were bared, her long lank legs shaking as if she had been caught out in the snow naked. She extinguished the candles of the menorah and hastily shoved the brass object into a drawer in panic. He knew, she knew he knew but she would not desecrate the traditions, her heritage so precious to her, by having them mocked openly by him as they had been in the past. If only she could teach little Isa...

"Come in," she said shakily, knowing what to expect next and dreading it. She could hardly hide her surprise when it was the striking visage of the Earl that appeared as the door opened with care. "Oh, oh, your Lordship!" she gasped, hurrying to straighten her small closet. "I-I'm sorry; I was expecting someone else."

And he knew who it was; was Lord Derby so unscrupulous that he would come to her here, now?! He felt rage rise within him like bile, a bitter passion to punish the man and to comfort Rebecca at the same time. "If I am disturbing you, I can come back..."

"I assure you, you are not!" she insisted and, in her haste to reassure him, rushed forward, bumping her foot on the base of the bed and tripping like a great bloody idiot. He hurried forward and caught her before she reached the ground. Finding herself staring dumbly up into his beautiful face she felt more naked than she had before, aware of the excited throb building in her belly and around the tips of her bosom. Wanting nothing more than to bury her face in his sturdy chest, delight in his warmth as his arms held her tightly, she gathered what dignity she had left and stood. "Terribly clumsy..." she muttered, utterly embarrassed.

He smiled, that infuriatingly charming half quirk of his lips. "Good thing I was here to catch you," he said, his voice sensual and low in the quiet of the small room. "I've brought something for you, if you would accept it?" She nodded eagerly and he drew the velvet satchel from his pocket as well as a small rounded tin from round his back. "Christmas pud," he explained, handing her the tin, "from Mrs. Harrow, bless her heart. It's fresh, I just picked it up yesterday; I ran into you on the way back. Careful, it's a tad..."

She took the tin from him and instantly felt her arms dragged down by the weight of it. "I see your need for the sleigh now," she giggled, managing to half carry, half drag it over to her tiny wardrobe and placing it on top. He tried to picture her own family Christmas; she was dark, Scottish? Welsh perhaps? Did she have siblings; were her parents still living? He imagined a tiny cottage, buried deep in the falling snow as a family gathered around a battered pianoforte by the light of a roaring fire, singing carols. He was moving towards her before he was aware of his own actions and when she turned she found he was standing directly in back of her. "Is it any good? The pudding I mean," she said awkwardly, playing with a loose strand of her deep brown hair.

"I wouldn't recommend it," he said fiercely, the pudding the farthest thing from his mind at the moment. She was so close to him and they were both so close to the inviting warmth of her bed. "My mother broke a tooth on one last year. This," he handed her the blue satchel, "is the real reason I came. I figured you would be missing it."

"You've found it!" she exclaimed enthusiastically, giving his a cheerful kiss upon the cheek as she removed the chain from the drawstring pouch. Her lovely golden brown eyes were filling with glimmering tears that she tried desperately to fight back as she turned and lifted her hair in a messy bundle so he could fasten it around her neck. "And you've had it repaired; that clasp had been wobbly for ages now!"

The creamy expanse of her neck, its delicate arch and smooth skin, was revealed to him in all its glory as he secured the necklace. His burning fingertips lovingly brushed the curling wisps of hair at her nape before his lips descended, gently pressing against the sweet scented flesh of her neck, kissing along her spine. She did not pull away, a small gasp escaping her mouth, and when he rested a hand upon her shoulder instead of brushing it off she clasped it in her own.

"You are so beautiful," he murmured in her ear, his heated breath caressed the delicate shell.

She turned back to him, her eyes dark with desire. His own were smoldering with yearning, a look of such serene seduction and lust making him appear more stunning than she ever thought possible. His cock was as hard as a sabre, rigid and unyielding against the damnable tight restriction of his breeches, though cold steel it was not but pulsing flesh and blood aching for her attention. Her hands fell to her waist and began to untie the belt of her wrap. His fingers covered hers, halting her actions as she gazed into his eyes, confused. Did he not want her? She was a peach, ripe and luscious for the picking, surrendering herself to him completely. He was ravenous for her, a predator with his prey in his grasp. And yet he hesitated.

"No," he whispered to her huskily, "No...not yet. By Gawd, you are exquisite," he growled as he encircled her ardently in his arms, burying his face in her hair, rubbing his cheek in its bouncy softness.

Her stroked her cheek with such tenderness, persuading her to angle her neck so her face was peering up at him. She was tall, not comparable to his own height as her forehead came only to his mouth but she fit him better than any other woman he had been with, as if she were made for his arms, his kiss alone.

His lips claimed hers, his tongue plunging forth as a Dragoon at the charge, ravaging her, triumphing as he heard her moan of submission. Her body was feverish with want for him as she pressed herself up against him, her nipples tautening into hard knots, the space between her thighs throbbing with a delicious damp ache.

"Exquisite," he panted, pulling air into his lungs as he broke the kiss.

"I love you," she confessed, tears spilling over her flushed cheeks. She had only ever dreamed of being touched the way he touched her, cared for the way he was caring for her. If only it could last forever. If only...

"I love you too, my darling," he told her. And with that, he placed a gentle kiss upon her brow and departed, leaving her once more in the solitude of her guest room.


	4. Night Four

Rebecca fell back upon the patchwork quilt of her bed, utterly exhausted. Dickie had woken up ill and she had stayed by his side faithfully, trying to ease his fever and comfort him. Downstairs, Lady Hortense has been wailing about her poor little baby, though she never once ventured near the nursery. It had to be consumption, no, measles, according to the hysterical Lady Derby. All the while, Rupert noted she had no misgivings allowing Rebecca to look after him, possibly becoming infected herself. The doctor was called and it turned out to be nothing more than a common cold for which Rebecca was then promptly blamed for keeping him out in the snow for so long the other day.

Now, she was finally alone, allowed to rest in peace and quiet; thanks to a healthy does of physics, Dickie was now sleeping serenely and Hortense had finally given up shrilly chastising her for her careless behavior and had gone to bed. The four candles burned along with the sharnash in their places upon the menorah. A light in dark places, she thought, as she noticed how each candle lit made the room dance merrily with a soft and cheering glow. She reached for her Star of David, which she had reattached to its chain, touching it gently as she remembered her mother and her four sweet sisters. It also reminded her of Rupert, and suddenly her body flooded with warmth. He loved her, he had told her so. But what would he think if the truth was ever revealed?

Her silent deliberation was interrupted by a quiet knock upon her door. 'Rupert!' she thought in a rush to extinguish her menorah.

"No need to bother," came a pleasant, merry voice as George, Lord Derby's valet, popped into the room, a bottle of brandy in one hand, two glasses in the other. She need not hide her secret from the short, balding young man. It was a relief, in all honesty, to have someone she could share it with. In turn, she did not mention to anyone that George's fancy turned more to those of his own gender instead of the opposite. "Thought you could use this," he held up the bottle of liquor, "after the day you had."

Rebecca nodded gratefully and shuffled over, making room on the bed for her friend. He sat with a jolly bounce, making her giggle as he poured the brandy. "Cheers and down the hatch," he said, knocking back his first glass and refilling it.

"Mozel tov," she smiled, taking a tiny sip.

"You know, I do believe that devil of an Earl is keen on you," George grinned slyly. "A rogue that one is, but you have most definitely have caught his eye!" She flushed and suddenly became very interested in the contents of her glass. "Do tell!" he urged.

"It's nothing, really," she tried to assure him, though she was smiling from ear to ear. "Anyways, nothing can come of it, you know that. He would never let us go."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was cold, thought Rupert, prodding the fire for the tenth time. His bed seemed large and lonely, and he longed for a body to curl up next to. No not just a body, Rebecca's body. He moved back to his mattress, pulling at the sheets in a frustrated manner as he slid under the coverings. She was probably sleeping quietly by now, he reflected, his snow angel. He did not wish to disturb her, not after the long day she had suffered and the harsh verbal chastisement by the high-pitched Hortense Anacombe. It had taken all his willpower not to lash out himself at the shrew, tell her to stop harassing the only one who had actually seemed to care about Dickie's welfare.

Rebecca. She smelled of wood smoke and lilacs; he could almost breath it in if he closed his eyes, imagining her arm draped casually across his stomach, her head resting against his breast. His cock began to react to his musings, its girth against his thigh expanding. Lifting the bed coverings and pushing his night shirt aside, he watched the column of velvet flesh stretch and rise lazily, coaxing it with his hand to its full stature, stroking the foreskin back and caressing the large, glistening head with a thumb in a circular motion. A fierce gasp escaped his throat immediately, the color rising in his cheeks as his arousal grew to a delirious pitch.

"Rebecca," he moaned, clenching his teeth as he gripped his rampant manhood. She was smiling up at him, in his mind, opening her thighs so pleasingly for him as he entered her with a mighty thrust. His hips arched off the mattress as he pumped his cock in his hand, his fingers rotating round the impressive thickness as he rhythmically tightening his clasp as he moved from head to base. His thumb continued to move over the glowing crown, rubbing those first lovely drops of pre-come into the tender skin. "Ohhhhh, Rebecca, my sweet," he growled, imagining her hips meeting his own, the look of sheer rapture on her face as she lashed her head back and forth. He'd fill her, he'd fill her like no man ever could, pleasure her as she deserved. His other hand fondled his sensitive flat nipples, as hard as buttons, and moved down his taut stomach, finally catching his golden furred scrotum in its grasp. He was notoriously ticklish there and the sensations sent a thrill shuddering throughout his body. With one last powerful grunt and came, his seed covering his hand and thighs.

He lay there, panting, sweeping the sweat-dampened hair from his forehead. "Love you, Rebecca," he murmured into the pillows, finally sated as sleep overtook him only to send him into delicious dreaming.


	5. Night Five

The small, melodic voice drifted clearly through the silent, evening-darkened halls of the manor, emanating like a first bird song of the winter from the drawing room. Putting Dickie to bed, Rebecca followed the enchanting sound as it sang out 'The Coventry Carol.' A group of servants had gathered just outside the parlor, lurking in shadow as they listened peacefully, serenely to the beautiful and youthful vocalizing. Staying in the darkness with the others, Rebecca ventured close enough to the partially opened door to see Rupert sitting on the divan beside his mother, his fair features alight with the soft glow of the candles.

"Go on, luvy," one of the maids said kindly. "You don't belong out here with the likes of us, go in and enjoy the music."

Rebecca would ordinarily refuse but the sight of the Earl of Edrington made her bold. Sneaking in through the pocket door at the back of the room that lead from the small dining chamber, she took a seat in a solitary chair in a corner. She almost gave an audible gasp when she saw the source of the harmonious melody was, in fact, Dorothea. She smiled proudly at her and ventured a small wave. That caught Rupert's attention, who much to her embarrassment, turned to her and smiled.

"Imagine the nerve of her," Lucia hissed venomously. "She should be out with the servants."

Hortense shot her husband a scathing glare as if this were some machination of his to solely to humiliate her but he looked as surprised as she, mouthing silently as his skin turned an ashen color.

The entire Edrington family was present, Lord Declan and Lady Alicia as well as Rupert, looking delectably gorgeous in a cream shirt and vest with his evergreen frock coat. Thomas, handsome with dark hair and the lucid blue eyes of their mother, he was the eldest after Rupert; Adrian, the youngest of the Edrington boys with his platinum hair and dark blue eyes. Rebecca couldn't help but think that Rupert was by far the most attractive, though all were fair especially when he turned his glance in her direction and smirked. Accompanying them were the Anacombes and Mr. Blandish and his wife, the Edrington's solicitor, who had arrived earlier today to iron out some business between Lord Declan and Derby, and had stayed to take advantage of their employer's hospitality. Dorothea was accompanied on piano by her governess, Corinna.

From the walls all around her, Rebecca could feel the scrutinizing stare of generations of Edringtons captured forever in oil and canvas and crowded onto the ornate walls in their gold leaf frames. She felt small even in the relative modesty of the room, and cold as she had picked the chair farthest from the fire and closest to the windows, removed from the rest of the group. She tried to control her shivering, concentrating instead on Dorothea and on Rupert, whose back was to her. His arm had slid casually down the back of the divan and his fingers were now provocatively stroking the velvet fabric.

The set ended and Dorothea ran to Rebecca, throwing her arms around the older woman and crying delightedly, "I'm so happy you came to hear me sing!" She glanced towards her brother and added in a sly undertone, "And I know Rupert is too! Oh, but you're freezing! You must come closer to the fire!"

"Do you play, Miss Goode?" Rupert asked in a nonchalant manner.

Rebecca stared for a moment, startled he had spoken to her and trying to comprehend the meaning of his words. The piano, of course! She opened her mouth to speak but Lord Anacombe barked out before she could utter a word, "Her talents are modest to say the least."

"I don't remember asking you," replied Rupert sharply.

"A l-l-l-little," said Rebecca. In fact, she was quite good though the Anacombes had always blamed her for not being able to teach Lucia, who lacked the talent; they resented that her own was greater than their daughter.

"Oh good!" Dorothea exclaimed, practically pulling Rebecca, despite her protestations, out of her chair and urging her towards the piano. She sat at the bench and looked blankly at the sheet music before her, too embarrassed to admit that she could not read it and played from memory. "Which song?" she whispered to Dodo, hoping that she knew it.

"Holly and the Ivy," Dorothea murmured back, pretending to be adjusting herself as she turned to Rebecca and smiled. "Don't worry, you'll be fabulous. Don't look, Rupert's watching you!" Rebecca felt herself turn a bright crimson and her palms started to sweat; at least the song was one she knew well. Once she started, all else fell away as her fingers assuredly moved across the ivory and Dodo's voice matched her measure perfectly. Before she knew it, it had ended and she was getting a mild round of appreciative applause.

"Superb," commented Lady Edrington, giving her son a clever sideways glance.

The men prepared to withdraw to the library for a smoke and a few drinks; there was apparently something that still needed to be discussed between Anacombe, Edrington and Blandish but they all agreed it could wait until morning and Mr. Blandish collected his wife and departed. Lady Alicia and Hortense retired to the ladies parlor while Lucia made a fuss over retreating to her bedchambers, mostly likely hoping Rupert would follow. Corinna took Dorothea to bed, but not before the girl could bestow a kiss upon Rebecca's cheek. Suddenly, she realized she was along with the Earl.

"Amazing," Rupert drawled teasingly, "to play so well without ever even having to turn the page." He reached over her and closed the book of sheet music.

"Was I that obvious?" she giggled.

"You were fantastic," he told her sincerely, sitting upon the piano bench beside her. "Where did you learn to play like that?"

"My mother," she replied simply.

"Is she as gifted as you are?"

"She was," she told him sadly. "Much more so than I'll ever be."

Ah, he thought forlornly. He laid his hand upon her shoulder, a touch he'd meant to be comforting, consoling but it quickly turned sensual has his fingertips skimmed the bare skin at the nape of her neck. "Tell me," he said, leaning in closer so that his heated breath kissed the sensitive space beneath her ear, "do you possess any other...talents I don't know about?"

"Wouldn't you like to find out," she tantalized him, smiling as she closed her eyes and leaned into his caress. "I could...show you," she said breathlessly, turning to meet his feverishly passionate gaze. She took his hand in her own and raised it to her lips, brushing the rose petal softness against his fingers, giving his thumb a small, playful nip. His restraint, his resolved, was now crumbled. Pulling her to him roughly, their mouths met in a tangle of lips and desperately seeking and tasting tongues. He could feel her rapid breathing pushing the plushness of her small breasts into him. He grasped one firmly, delighting in its shape and size as well as the little hardened knot at his peak. "Rupert," she squealed as he swept her into his arms, blushing as she realized it was the first time she had called him by his proper name. "What are you playing at?! Someone will see! You're a savage!"

"You've no idea, my darling," he promised with a twinkling look of mischief in his dark eyes. "Not as of yet anyways! No one will notice, do stop squirming! Mrs. Blandish has brought her famous eggnog; they'll all be smashed out of their heads in no time and pay no attention to us!"

"My room," she told him as he carried her up the stair, "so I can be close to Dickie if he wakes." He obliged; though he would have preferred to make love to her in the splendor of his own bed, there was something pleasant, snug, welcoming, about the idea of curling beneath her quaint patchwork quilt, her naked body in his arms. "Would you be terribly embarrassed?" she asked as he set her down on her bed and moved to close the small door. "If someone did see us, would you be so embarrassed?"

"Of course not," he scoffed. "Why should I be embarrassed to be seen with the woman I'm going to marry?"

"Marry?!" laughed Rebecca. "This is sudden isn't it? You haven't even properly proposed!"

"Rebecca..." he said as he joined her on the bed, kissing her between his words. "Have you a middle name?" he frowned. She shook her head no and he continued, "Rebecca Goode, will you marry me?" If only she could, if only, she thought.

Rupert was known for his ability to undress, and to undress a companion, faster than any other in the British Empire and his reputation was not ill earned. His frock coat, waistcoat, shoes and stockings were all on the floor in a manner of moments as his deft fingers skillfully worked on the simple laces at the back of her dress. His warm hands slid under her frock, delighting in the feel of her smooth skin as he slid the gown down her shoulders. His lips followed. He wanted her so very desperately, more than he had ever wanted anyone in his life. This is what making love felt like; romance, not just mere physical gratification. His desire was great, straining against his trousers until he thought they'd split at the seam! His lips brushed something metal and, realizing it was the chain, he ran his fingers along it, finding a pendant now hung from it. Looking closer, he saw...

"Oh God," she gasped, pulling away from him abruptly. Feeling suddenly exposed as well as half naked, she struggled to cover herself, beginning to weep under his shocked stare; She had forgotten she had been wearing her Star of David. "You won't go to hell for touching it," she spat out at him.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he said, sounding colder than he had hoped to.

"I wanted to," she sobbed. "I was frightened. Do you know what it is like to try to keep your faith a secret? Hiding a part of yourself you can never show anyone else?!"

"Is that why you won't marry me?" he asked before he could even comprehend the words. Had his proposal been serious? Had he even realized it had been serious up until now? "Does Derby know?" he asked, his anger suddenly rising. "Is that how he keeps you as his slave, working at half wages, taking advantage of you, of your body? I've fallen in love with you," he confessed softly.

His words only seemed to wound her further. "My father was a Christian man," she told him, "from a good family. He died, penniless, cut off from his family when I was still very young; my parents were never even properly married. I will not abandon my faith and I will not see the same ruin another man. Do you think me a heathen?"

"My road to hell has already been laid, Rebecca, long ago and without your help," he said in earnest. "My family would not be party to my ruin. I don't know, I don't know what to feel about that but I know what I feel about you. I've always dreaded the prospect of marriage, but the idea of being with you, of your belly round with my children...it warms me. I want to be with you. Now, forever." He reached for her, breaking down her half-hearted resistance as he smothered her with kisses, warmed her with his touch. "Do you want to be with me?"

"Yes," she cried, burying her face in his chest. He began to ease her dress off again. "No," she smiled up at him, "let me, please." She stood, slipping the frock from her body and letting it pool at her feet. The subtle curves of her body shone through her diaphanous slip, her dusky nipples a rosy glow through the fabric, the alluring place below her belly and between her legs a soft cloud of tempting shadow. She lifted her hand to the shift's tie at her collarbone and drew it open, shimmying out of the thin material until it joined her gown upon the worn rug.

Rupert's breath caught in his throat; she was everything he imagined she would be, more beautiful put to flesh and bone than any of his fancies ever had been. She was tall and slender, not voluptuous but with a generous amount of curves; wide hips, a lean waist with a rounded little tummy. Her breasts were high and firm, neither too small nor distractingly large, tipped with perfect peaks of raspberry. She shifted from one foot to the other, obviously slightly self-conscious under his voracious stare. She smiled at him bashfully, feeling like a silly little virgin before him. He gave her an approving, hungry smile to conquer her anxiety and tossed a powerful arm around her slim waist, pulling her to him. He nuzzled her belly as she returned to the bed on her knees, his hand grasping her lovely little buttocks. "Beautiful," he murmured, his tongue slithering around her navel, the tip dipping into the tiny indent.

She giggled as he pulled her down onto the coverlet, laying his body next to hers. His eyes were once more unfathomable pools of liquid onyx as he kissed her face; her nose, her eyelids, her mouth. He moved his lips to her breast, lapping at one plump little nub, suckling as desperate for her attention and affection than any nursing babe would be if not more so. His hand slithered between her legs, parting her rosy lips and diving inside. She was soft, slick and his fingers came away glossy with her juice. Proud and highly satisfied that he could make her so wet so rapidly, he painted her nipples with her own nectar until they shined, sucking it off each bud in turn.

Her gasps of pleasure were quickly approaching frantic cries; she had never been touched this way before, for her own gratification. The throb in her belly became a distinct ache as her sex flooded with her desire, amazed even more so that Rupert seemed to be savoring it, taking delight in the things he was doing to her. He sought out the parts of her body that made her wild with passion, caressing with his taste and touch, slowly, slowly, enjoying every moan that tumbled from her sweetly parted lips. She had never been cherished that way before, he had never cherished anyone the way he did her; they were both in the fervent throes of this new thing they were feeling and experiencing. His practiced actions, which had always been a source of enjoyment in the past, suddenly had meaning, bliss as he had never been aware of before.

Flushed with love, she ran her hands through his tightly restrained golden curls, expectantly parting her legs for him. Grinning wickedly, instead of removing his breeches and taking advantage of what she was offering with his cock, he eagerly buried his head between her legs. He breathed in the brackish scent of her arousal as he nestled his nose and mouth into the thick wiry curls discreetly covering the ripe seam of her sex. He ran his tongue over the split, pushing inside as he drank greedily her potent sap as it flowed from her. He swirled his tongue about her labia, teasing her with the promise of penetration of her heated notch, moving upwards to stroke the shaft of her clitoris from base to tip. She was now shouting with rapture, tears streaming down her cheeks as he greedily devoured her, his mouth supping at the very heart of her. His lips made small smacking sounds against her silken skin as he performed his intimate kiss, sipping noises as he swallowed her down insatiably. His flaxen locks tickled the insides of her thighs and her stomach, adding to the sensations.

"Rupert, oh Rupert!" she cried, seeking purchase against anything, balling the quilt in her fists, grasping at the headboard. She arched against him, panting heavily, squirming against as his lips pulled at her burning core, the fleshy kernel of her pussy. Her belly tightened wonderfully, her limbs filled with a tingling warmth, going numb in the most delicious way. "Ahhhhhhhhhh, OOOOOOH!" It was then he withdrew, making her whimper in frustration.

He kissed her on the lips, letting her relish her own silky emissions in his mouth. His need had become urgent, she could see it in his black eyes and it sent a rush, an amazing thrill throughout her. "Fill me," she pleaded, helplessly and hopelessly under his licentious spell. "I want to..." she gasped as he gently nibbled at a nipple, "feel you, inside. Please."

He needed no more provocation. Somewhat embarrassed at his inability to hold out longer, he dragged his shirt over his head and undid the fastenings to his trousers, discarding them anxiously. But he was no untested schoolboy but a skillful lover and he was determined he would pleasure her as she had never been before.

He was beautiful revealed in all his glory, strong and sinewy with trim muscles and a dusting of soft blonde hair. Not only did he have the facial profile of a Greco-Roman God, his body seemed to be modeled after one of those splendidly indecent statues those peoples produced; a work of art. His hips were fantastic, his thighs exquisite, powerful from his riding prowess, his arms firm and sturdy with lean muscles. His flat stomach led into his glorious groin, adorned with a golden down that shone in the candlelight. From his silken bush rose his prick, a full and magnificent staff, its bulging head, straining to be released from its covering of foreskin, was red and ripened like a candied plum. He braced himself above her, letting her worship him for a moment, her hand stroking his, in her experience, extraordinary length and weight. He felt like warm velvet over steel against her palm and she was electrified at the idea of him putting it inside of her.

Grinning lustfully, he parted her vaginal lips with his fingers and guided his cock inside her. Warmth, tight, all consuming warmth as he pushed in. She gripped him like the expert fingers of a comely milkmaid, gasping as he stretched and filled her completely, and once more they got the feeling that they had been made to fit together, like pieces of a puzzle. He rocked back and forth, getting her used to the feel of him before he began moving. "Good God!" he grunted through clenched teeth as he thrust into her and withdrew, feeling her tight inner grasp caress his foreskin, loathe to let the tasty morsel it was gorged on go.

He was like a man possessed, ardent and fierce. He pumped her savagely, kissing her neck and breasts as she raised her knees and locked her ankles at the small of his back, allowing him to go deeper. He gripped her backside, their bellies slapping together in both their enthusiasm and ardor, his testicles slapping her bottom as he moved. He slid in and out of her slippery tunnel with ease, his rampant pego shimmering with her rich honey. And suddenly, Heaven was rushing up at Rebecca as if it were a tangible thing; she could reach for it, caress it. She was enveloped in colors and bursting sensations of bliss as she ran head first over the edge and fell into the intensity and warmth of fulfillment. He followed quickly after, his seed shooting into her like lava as he growled barbarously, his entire powerful frame shuddering. His milky ejaculations filled her, spilling out onto her thighs and stomach.

He collapsed, spent and lightheaded with love, encircling her in his arms. His chest was heaving, his skin slick with sweat, the heady perfume of their coupling clinging strongly to both their trembling bodies. She was his, truly his at last. Had it only been five days since they met? It felt like forever. She snuggled into his chest, relishing the sensation of being protected, treasured.

"Damned cold in here," he grumbled drowsily and she realized she had drifted off into sleep. Rupert was slowly circling her breast, teasing at the nipple.

"I apologize, my Lord," she smiled, still in his arms, their legs entangled. "The servants must not have come in to light the fire yet," she teased. He chuckled. "Lucia will be jealous is she gets wind of this," she giggled.

"You're worth ten of her," scoffed Rupert. "Don't you ever forget that." After a moment of silence, he asked again, "Will you marry me, Rebecca?" She pretended she was sleeping.


	6. Night Six

A slight lessening of weight upon the mattress alerted Rupert to the fact that Rebecca was gently, quietly trying to sidle out of the bed without waking him. He was a light sleeper, a fact which made him a natural born soldier, easily shaken out of slumber and wide awake within moments. Lazily opening one eye to a tiny slit so he would not be detected, he watched as she pulled her chemise over her slim body and retrieved her writing materials from the small desk in the corner. She sat at the edge of the bed, balancing her inkwell on the footboard as she leaned the blank piece of paper against the curved piece of wood. He observed her, her thick brown hair falling about her pale shoulders as she played with a frizzy lock, twirling it around her long, slender finger as she giggled. Was she writing about him? His curiosity, usually controllable was itching the bloody hell out of him. Finally, she finished the letter and placed it, unsealed upon the desk.

He made a show of yawning and stretching languidly, making her aware of his wakefulness and cocking her a slow, libidinous smile. She sat beside him on the bed, grinning as she kissed his mouth hungrily. "How potent, do you suppose," she asked wistfully, "is Mrs. Blandish's eggnog? How long until you are missed?"

"Long enough," he grinned licentiously. He ran his palm, flat and smooth, across the prominent lump hoisting the bedcovers just below his waist like a topsail. "What are we going to do about **this** then?"

"Oh, milord," she said teasingly, "have you Mrs. Harrow's pudding under there?"

"Why not have a taste and see," was his playfully depraved reply. She giggled, wiggling beneath the quilt alongside and atop him. He cupped the back of her neck, gently rubbing her nape in a circular motion with his thumb as he held her against his burning kiss. She was astride him, half seated, half laying against him as she felt the tip of his burgeoning shaft brush against the inside of her thigh, seeking out the heated warm, wet comfort oh her feminine core, tickling the lips of her womanly rose. She grinned, licking her lips as she moved her smoldering lips to his chest, lapping at the hardened nubs of his flat nipples with the tip of her tongue, rolling the velvet organ around the dusky, oval aureole.

He groaned, a fierce sound, as he ran his hands through the silky woolen softness of her hair as he urged her downward. She ran her tongue along the smooth and well-defined lines of his muscular torso, his flat, tight stomach. She kissed his navel, nuzzling her nose in that soft, golden hair that began its steady descent from his belly. He smelled fantastically masculine, his heady musk filling her nostrils and making her head spin as she dipped below the coverlet and buried her face joyfully into the flaxen curls of his pubic mound. His muscles tightened, a feral groan escaping his lips as he encouraged her onwards demandingly.

Taking his erect rod, its head poking out inquisitively from its velvet folds of flesh, firmly in hand she gently urged the foreskin back in order to place a luscious wet slurping kiss upon his cock's crown. In no time, the little fellow was at full salute, its skin stretched fully, its summit large and round and succulent, purpling from desire and shimmering with the drops of his impending bliss. She sucked the salty liquid enthusiastically, running her tongue along the length of the tender underside of his raging prick to where the staff met the heavy lightly furred sac of his testicles. He sucked in a violent breath, grasping at the pillow as he felt her tongue slowly and reverently lick at his sensitive scrotum, sucking at his balls, rolling the fruits over her tongue again and again.

At last, she pushed her mouth down upon his cock, taking as much of his extent within her lips moist embrace as she could manage. She suckled his brackish flesh in and out, pumping her fist around the base of his rampant manhood as Rupert's hips bucked forward, finding his lustful rhythm. She let him guide her, show her what he enjoyed, what brought him pleasure as he thrust to the back of her throat with each desperate lunge. She felt his balls tighten under her finger's soft fondling and he grunted, preparing to pull out. This she would not let him do. So often when she was servicing Lord Derby this way, he'd find some way to humiliate her; drawing out and drenching her face with his seed was his favorite. She wanted it to be different with Rupert, though she understood that he believed the act would be degrading to her she knew he wanted it and she did as well, wanted to taste him, to feel him climax down her throat. She grasped his hips resolutely as he growled and went over the edge; his cum filling her mouth again and again, more than she could swallow at one time, in hot, bitter spurts.

Panting and red faced, she pulled herself up and rested her head against his heaving chest. "Let me hold you," he said huskily, breathless and slick with sweat, wrapping his arms tightly around her. He wiped his spending from her chin with the pad of his thumb and kissed her forehead, determined to make this last forever.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dickie had woken, calling for Rebecca's attention as Rupert languorously dressed, his limbs drowsy and warm with the many delights they had shared that morning, sweetly scented with the perfume of their sex. Making sure that his lover was occupied; he strolled over to the writing desk and examined the letter. As per his suspicions, it was addressed to one Hannah Shirrah, 'my dearly beloved sister.' He took to his precise memory the address, scribbling it down on a nearby scrap of paper only for the benefit of the man he would employ.

"See you later," he promised, grabbing Rebecca about the waist as she brushed by quickly. He kissed her passionately on the lips and departed, a man on a mission.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"This is it?" the young man asked in his distinct Irish brogue, staring dubiously at the folded piece of paper in his hand. He shivered from the cold, leaning slightly into the shelter of the stables as he spoke with the Earl of Edrington, shaking the snow from his shaggy black hair.

"I know it isn't much," Rupert admitted, pulling his greatcoat tighter about himself, "but it's a start. And I'll make it well worth your while, Diggory."

"Aye," replied the boy with a mischievous smile, "you always do. So I'm to find the family, then, the kin of the father?" Rupert nodded in the affirmative and patted Revenge on his muzzle fondly; he wouldn't trust this mission to any other two in the world. "I'll take good care of him, milord," Diggory assured him.

"I know you will," smiled Rupert with conviction. "Remember, no rest, no sleep until you find what you're looking for and bring me back news of them." Diggory nodded vigorously; Cornwall wasn't so far off, if he got lucky, he could be home by tomorrow night. "Good luck," the Earl told the boy as he mounted Revenge.

"Ta very much," grinned Diggory and then he was off.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Declan Danvers-Black Edrington sat silently behind the large oaken desk of his study, staring pensively out of the giant picture window at the mute snow covered fields. His fair brow was slightly creased, his hand slowly running over his freshly shaved jaw in contemplation. Rupert knew better than to interrupt him at the moment. Between them sat Lady Alicia, a good sign. For when she had unquestionably sided with her husband, she would stand behind him at his desk, her expression resolute. She looked at her son, a thin supportive smile upon her lips then contemplatively at the Duke. The elder Edrington sighed, running his hand over his graying flaxen hair, noting with some contempt his receding hairline.

"A Hebrew," Declan grunted, though there was no scorn behind his words, "a nursemaid!"

"Governess," corrected Rupert, earning a sideways glance from his mother. "She's a governess and her father was from a good family."

"People will talk, there will be scandal," concluded Declan.

"Oh bollocks!" Lady Alicia said suddenly, surprising the two men. "You know that gossip is not generally aimed in the family's direction; they are all far too frightened to fall out of our favor should word of it get back to us! And so what if they do? Why, there was even tittle-tattle of me when we were to be married," she reminded Declan. He rewarded her with the most genuine of loving smiles, the kind that Rupert hoped to be receiving from Rebecca thirty years from then.

"Of course," his father started, knowing when he was defeated. Truly, it did his heart a glad turn to see his son so happy, so full with love and not just chasing the skirt of another young comely little chit. All told, this was certainly less painful than his own father commanding him to reign in the infamous Edrington libido and settle down. Though, he thought fondly on Alicia, that hadn't turned out too badly after all. "We will stand by you whatsoever you choose and welcome the woman of your preference into our family. Go on, get gone with ye!" he waved his hand dismissively. A pleased smirk gracing his lovely mouth, Rupert caught his mother cuddling up in his father's lap and kissing him rather provocatively on the forehead as he departed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Nipping up after supper to pay a call on Rebecca, to tell her the fabulous news that his parents approved, he found her asleep on top her patchwork quilt, the tiny form of Dickie curled around her like a vine. So caring and tender, the scene touched Rupert, imagining Rebecca holding his own son so affectionately. After their activities the night of last and this morning, he had to wonder if even now his seed was taking root in her belly.

It could wait, he decided, smiling upon her slumbering figure; it might be best anyways to wait for word from her father's family. He kissed her tenderly and affectionately on the forehead, rubbing her shoulder gently and pulling a blanket up around her and the boy.

"Sleep tight, snow angel," he whispered, acknowledging from the tightness in his trousers that his wrist was going to be very sore in the morning.


	7. Night Seven

Christmas service. It was still dark when the Edrington family departed, Anacombes in tow, for the local parish. A freshly fallen cover of snow blanketed the rolling countryside, glowing in the soft purpling light of the dawning morning. Hortense was making a show of coddling little Dickie, fussing over his bonnet and securing and resecuring his coat again and again. It bothered Rupert, having witnessed her dismissive and selfish behavior during the boy's illness and having observed the maternal way Rebecca cared for him.

The first golden rays of daybreak filtered hazily through the thick colored glass windows of the small church as the chatting locals paraded in, the Edringtons taking their place at the front of the pews. The service opened with Dodo, accompanied by Mrs. Blandish on the organ, sang a heavenly rendition of 'The Angel Gabriel from Heav'n Came.' Mr. Constant, the parson, took his place and began his sermon. Rupert was anxious, relentlessly shifting in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs, folding his arms across his chest. Diggory was due to send word this evening if not arrive in person and the Earl was anxious to speak with Mr. Constant.

It was around noontime when the mass ended with a truly divine performance of 'God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen' once again provided by Dorothea. Avoiding the throng of well wishers all eager to speak with a member of the Edrington family, and the young ladies in particular eager to catch up one of the eligible Edrington boys, Rupert made his way through the crowd with a polite nod and a half hearted smile, heading towards the parson's offices.

"Lovely as always, Michael," Edrington commented as he entered Constant's cramped chambers, closing the small wooden door behind him.

"Really?" the man replied, raising an eyebrow above his crooked spectacles. Rupert was once again reminded how youthful the pastor was; only a handful of years older than himself, they had grown up together. "I quite thought you looked as if you'd rather be anywhere but here, though you did look utterly at peace towards the end of the sermon when you were napping."

"Good God," Rupert grinned, "just tell me I didn't snore."

Constant laughed. "What can I do for you, Rupert?"

"You always said the time would come," smirked Edrington, taking a seat upon a small and wholly uncomfortable wooden chair. He clasped his hands together, resting his elbows upon his knees and opened them widely as if in surrender. "I would like you to marry me."

"Congratulations," Michael smiled, sincerely pleased. "And to the lucky lady as well. Special license?" Rupert confirmed it with a nod. "But why do I sense difficulty?"

"The lucky lady in question," Rupert sighed, leaning back in the chair and rubbing his forehead strongly, "is a Jew."

"Ah," responded Constant, his eyebrows first erupting to the line of his hair and then settling back into their normal position. "Ah," he said again. "And she plans to convert?" he asked hopefully but the grim look upon his friend's features told him otherwise. He considered for a moment. "And you love her?"

"More than I ever thought possible," Rupert replied miserably. "She is...she is nothing I can describe for I do not believe that God has even invented a word to describe how fantastic she is. This is not another of my whims," he assured Michael earnestly, "this is a life I am willing to share with her."

"Right then," Constant said, swallowing hard as if he were standing up to the mightiest of bullies, "I will do it. I have never previously seen you so serious, so passionate about anything save your military career. Marriage is, after all, a union of love under God, and do not the children of Israel not worship the same God as we?" By way of a thank you, Rupert embraced the slight man powerfully, giving him a mighty pat on the back. "He works in mysterious ways and we are not to question His will. Good luck, Rupert; it will be difficult."

"Of that I am already keenly aware," Edrington said modestly. "But it will be worth it. Er, there's something else," he added carefully. "There might be something of a rush if certain...things should...develop."

"Oh, Rupert!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Mr. Blandish called around again, a thinly disguised social visit for their were still things that Lord Declan needed to work out with Lord Derby and he was anxious to get it over with before the man departed. Blandish left an hour later, visibly exasperated by the stubbornness of both the older men as he said his goodbyes and Merry Christmases.

Coming up on dinner and still no word from Diggory. Rupert was getting severely impatient as he sat down to feast with his family and their guests. Cook had gone all out with her roast goose and massive roast beef, fresh orange and cranberry marmalade, mint jelly and spirits flowing by the pint. Dessert was just as superb, the plum pudding surpassing even last years. Dorothea found a penny in her portion; Rupert prophetically found the ring in his.

The leftovers were ushered back into the kitchen where they would be prepared for Boxing Day. Lady Edrington invited Lady Derby to join her in portioning out the surplus food for the poor but once they had both learned that Alicia had encouraged Rebecca to participate as well, they both claimed indigestion and retired to the drawing room.

Lady Alicia was so kind, Rebecca thought, and the two of them, along with Dodo and Cook, had a spectacular time boxing the excess foodstuff, laughing and joking rather more bawdily than she would have expected. She felt so welcomed, so warm; she'd not felt anything like it since she was forced to leave her sisters and go into employ to feed them all. It was early evening when she excused herself to ready Dickie for bedtime, filled for the first time with a sense of complete happiness and the joy of the season.

Around the same time, Rupert felt his heart fill with apprehension and excitement as he spotted Revenge galloping towards the manor across the snow-sheltered drive. He met Diggory at the stables, cheeks a-glow from the cold and a sense of a job well done, eyes glittering with enthusiasm and his panting breaths coming from his mouth in soft crystalline clouds. "Milord," puffed the young man, swinging down from the black stallion. He handed Edrington a letter proudly.

"All went well then?" Rupert asked, licking his lips anxiously.

"Better than well, Lord," Diggory replied, puffing his chest out in satisfaction. "The letter's only a forward, the family themselves are behind me by about half a day. Twas easy once I got young Miss Shirrah to be telling me where her father's kin, his mum and pa, lived. They were practically right around the corner, milord; granted their residence was a bit more posh than their simple granddaughters' dwellings. Once I explained the situation to them, they were more than willing to except Miss Goode as their dearly missed, long lost relation."

"The lure of a wealthy, titled grandson proved stronger than their conviction in their faith, I suppose," Rupert sneered disapprovingly. "This is good news, Diggory. Your compensation will be with you tomorrow. Now go on with you, get home to your family. It's Christmas." Diggory thanked him and headed off to spend what was left of the day with his young wife and daughter.

This had turned out even better than Rupert had anticipated. He simply adored getting his way, especially when it benefited his beloved as well. He realized he had not seen her since the night of last when he had caught her unawares sleeping and suddenly his heart, as well as some other rather insistent parts of his body, felt an empty, aching need to be with her, to see the joy on her face as he told her the good news. With his usual dignified gait, he strolled with a self-satisfactory smirk, towards the nursery.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dickie was snuggled beneath the warm comfort of his bedcovers, his eyes heavy with sleep as Rebecca finished her somewhat awkward yet all the more lovely rendition of Silent Night. As he was drifting into sleep, she began a new song in a language he did not recognize, soft, soothing. "What is that?" he asked with a yawn.

"A song in the language of my people," she replied, gently smoothing a lock of his hair from his eyes.

"Will you teach it to me someday?" he requested.

"Maybe," she said sadly. "One day. Goodnight, my little Isa." He was already asleep.

She tiptoed back to her room, shutting the door that separated her small chamber from the nursery with care. The snow was falling so delicately, so softly outside the window as she retrieved her menorah from a desk drawer, chanting softly in Hebrew as she lit the candles, the tallow of the first few almost completely burnt down to stubs. She could vaguely hear the merriment continuing about the house, smiling as she hoped George would show up with some of his cognac or brandy. Or, even better, should Rupert pay her a visit...

She found herself blushing to the roots of her hair, from tip to toe, as she scurried around, trying to tidy up her small bedroom, dressing in her finest sleeping gown. She brushed her hair until it shone in the candlelight, her heart full of hopes and with love. Love, she truly, wholly, utterly loved him. Not for his title or his lands or assets but for the simple affectionate way he treated her, the tender way he touched her and the passionate way his eyes would sweep across her body whenever she walked into a room. There was a knock at the door and her heart nearly broke out of her chest, soaring with thrill and anticipation. Her heart fell sickeningly to her stomach when she turned and saw whom it was that had entered.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rupert's spirits were all aglow as he strode past the nursery to the unassuming door that marked the entrance to his beloved's chamber. Would she be waiting for him? His stride slowed considerable as he noticed the door was ajar, the voice of a man could be heard in a harsh undertone. "If you make one sound, by Gawd," it hissed, "I'll make you hurt for it!"

That was all Edrington needed to hear. He barged through the door, registering the sight only momentarily through his red haze of absolute rage of Lord Derby was laying astride Rebecca, his cruel fists holding her down upon the bed brutally. Before he even knew what he was doing, he was pulling the larger, older man off of his lover, his fists and boots flying into the Anacombe's face and stomach while catching a few blows of his own. "Get out," he screamed, "get out you disgusting old sod!"

"You want to be with your little kike whore?" Derby said, struggling away from Rupert's assault and spitting blood. He knocked her menorah from her bedside table and crushed the burning candles beneath his boot. "Well, enjoy her while you can, you little snot."

"She's not leaving with you," sneered Rupert.

Anacombe laughed, wiping the thick crimson flow from the corner of his mouth. "You plan to take her as your governess?"

"I plan to marry her."

The wheezing laughter only became louder, more vicious. "You think she'll leave me, leave *us*?! She hasn't told you, has she?" He shot a ruthless glare towards the frightened form of Rebecca, shaking as she curled herself up at the corner of her bed. Her eyes were wide with shock and dread as she slowly shook her head, begging him silently not to go on. "She knows I won't let her just walk off with Dickie, my only male heir; my own and Becky's son."

It took a moment for Rupert to comprehend what he was saying. Dickie, Rebecca's and his son? The foul bastard! His fury once more ignited, his heavy punches connected with Derby's jaw again and again as he dragged the man from the room, throwing him with revulsion against the hall carpet. "Don't you come near her again," snarled Rupert, slamming the door on the man.

"Shhhhhhh," he soothed, taking her trembling form in his arms and rocking her back and forth as she wept. "It's not your fault. I understand, shhhhhhhhhh." Kissing her hair, he lifted her, carrying her to where she knew not for she kept her face buried in the ticklish softness of his scarlet military coat. After some time, she was aware of being placed down upon a bed, the silken covers being drawn up around her. The mattress was supple, invitingly plump and the sheets so smooth against her skin. "Stay here," he told her. "I'll make everything better, I promise." He kissed her passionately on the cheek.

As he was marching purposely towards where the holiday festivities were continuing, a thought occurred to him. He wouldn't put it past Anacombe to take the child and run just to spite her, to spite them both. He went to the nursery and retrieved Dickie, Isa as Rebecca kept calling him, and placing him in his bed with his sweetheart, then returned to her room and picked up the slightly bent shape of her menorah. He brought that to her as well, promising to get her real wax candles for it. Once he was satisfied she was sleeping peacefully, he stalked off to find his father.

"Ah, Mr. Blandish, you're still here," Rupert said with a devious grin as he found the men celebrating with some warmed spirits in his father's study. "Good. We need to talk."


	8. Night Eight

Rebecca looked so young, Rupert thought as he watched her sleep from his place in the wingback besides the hearth, so childlike. Dickie had woken and had left the room hours ago; without him in her arms her slumber had become fitful, restless. He wanted to comfort her, curl up on the bed next to her and rock her in his arms like a baby but he had done the honorable thing--gently smoothed her hair back, whispering endearments as he tucked the blanket in more snugly around her. What little sleep he had gotten had been within the arms of the plush chair he was still seated in, napping lightly like a soldier preparing for a battle at dawn.

She awoke slowly, rubbing the sleep from her tear reddened eyes. She was not in her own bed; it was too soft, too plush to be her own mattress, the sheets too smooth and elegant. For one merciful moment, she drowsily struggled to remember what had happened, where she was and why she was there. She sat up hazily, once again wiping the film from her eyes until they focused upon Edrington and then everything came back to her in a painfully lucid instant. "Isaac," she croaked through a sobbing strained throat, searching the bedcovers for the small boy in vain. "Isa...Dickie, did they take him?"

"No," he assured her, hurrying over to her and, seating himself beside her, taking her face in his hands and running his thumb along her lower lip. "No, I would never let that happen. He's with Dodo, she'll take care of him." For the moment, all she could do was wrap her arms around him and nestle her face into his chest gratefully, loving him so greatly it warmed her. "I've settled it, Rebecca, my sweet; you'll never have to live in fear of him again. Do me the honor of being my wife." He did not phrase it as a question but as a statement, intent to hear the answer he desired to.

She looked up at him, her round golden brown eyes filled with confusion and yet a small glimmer of hope was there as she searched his face. Even after a night spent dozing in a chair he still looked regal, orderly in his breeches and shirt sleeves, his bearing as noble as ever, his curled blonde hair still mostly restrained by his strict queue save for a few twisting strands of gold which had insisted on breaking free. "You still want me?" she asked, always wanting to have believed he had been serious in his offers but having been so frightened for her situation. "You would take as your son a basta..." she couldn't bring herself to say that word, to call her own precious offspring such a heinous thing.

"Oh, my darling, none of that matters," he told her, lovingly brushing his lips against hers. "It will be sorted out, I promise you that. You will claim yourself a widow; his father is dead to you at any rate. Isaac is part of you and I love you so dearly, my snow angel."

"But my faith..."

"Have we not sorted that out already?" he said with an easy smirk, the delightful beauty mark upon his cheek seeming to smile along with his mouth. "Honestly, all of this is becoming such a bore," he sighed. "Er, not you of course, my darling. You could never bore me," he grinned, running a finger along the scoop neck of her sleep gown."

"I really don't understand any of this," she told him, laughing in spite of himself. He loved her grin, the way her crooked teeth shone, the way her entire face seemed to glow. "I don't understand but I trust despite the fact that I really ought not to, that all my experience should set me against doing so. I love you so, Rupert," she said, throwing her arms around his neck. "You're hurt," she gasped softly, running her fingers gently against the puffy purpling skin around his eye.

"It's nothing, sweet; I've had much worse," he chuckled huskily, feeling the plushness of her small breasts press against his chest. "I love you too," he murmured, combing his hands through her soft hair. He kissed her neck, following the smooth delectable ivory path up to her jaw and then her dusky lips, which he captured greedily with his cunning mouth, the velvet of their tongues dueling as his won supremacy, dominating her, lashing her into submissiveness with its rough caress. His groin tightened, a tingle permeating his flat belly as his cock tensed against the material of his trousers.

The petals of her sex were already wet with the silky release of her sultry essence as his fingers grazed the burning cleft of her feminine lips, his hand slipping effortlessly beneath the coverlet and under her gown. She groaned as they burrowed inside, finding the shining fleshy pearl of her womanhood and fondling it ardently, running the pad of his thumb in circles around the tiny shaft as her hot nectar spread across his hand. "Oooh, Rupert," she said in a breathless, elongated sigh against the shell of his ear, "you make me feel so warm, like nothing I've ever felt before."

"I want to make you feel like that forever," he whispered gruffly, nipping at her bottom lip. Slowly, he eased her back down onto the bed, covering her lovely slender form with his own. She raised herself up slightly off the mattress so he could more easily remove her chemise and then watched as he discarded his own garments. The blazing touch of his mouth enveloped her skin, devouring her breasts, suckling at their plump little peaks, tugging at them with the delicious pull of his furious tongue. Her bottom ribs poked through the pale skin of her lean chest just above the little round swell of her belly; she was too skinny, he thought, something that Cook's considerable culinary talents would take care of in no time.

He tossed their bodies over so she now lay atop him in a tangle of sheets and throws. She kissed his body, running her subtle tongue along the lines of healed battle scars, tasting his sweat, his desire against her lips. He pulled her roughly against him, face to face as his rampant manhood, rigid and throbbing in his blissful excitement, jutted up between her parted thighs. She gasped and arched her back, pushing her belly into his, as the raging staff brushed the tender skin of her vaginal lips and her bottom. Putting his strong hands upon her hips, he guided her over him, parting her labia with eager fingers he urged her to impale herself upon his engorged rod. She did so devotedly, feeling every inch of him sink in deeper and deeper until she was sitting upon his hips.

Once again he took control, cupping her backside to keep her still until he showed her the rhythm, slowly grinding in a circular motion, his pubic bone rubbing against her clit with each delirious thrust. "Good?" he asked her throatily, he voice verging on a growl with every word.

"Fantastic," she cried enthusiastically, beginning to move herself to his pace and measure. She took him, all of him, inside her as his hips bucked upwards, feeling so whole, so complete as he stimulated her, keeping his motion again her clit while his fingers played with her nipples, pulling, pinching gently. She was panting, soft, ecstatic sighs coming from her softly parted lips as he kissed her again and again passionately. Her body tensed in his embrace, preparing for release as he increased his efforts to pleasure her as his own climax came rushing towards him in a blinding current. She practically screamed as she came, riding him like a wild stud as she convulsed around him, milking his cock tightly until he too crested, filling her with hot streams of his thick fluid.

They collapsed, breathing heavily as he cradled her in his arms. She nestled against him, kissing his neck, his rapidly rising and falling throat as he pulled air into his lungs. "We have an engagement," he told her reluctantly after a moment, disinclined to let her go, to have this luscious worshipping of her feminine charms end. "And then you will never have to fear him again, I promise."

"You know," she informed him as he slid out of bed and gracefully strode over to the wardrobe, "I haven't said yes yet."

"You will," he smirked that infuriatingly confident half-smile of his as he pulled on a clean shirt. His actions, as beguiling as it was to watch his naked figure stretch and move tranquilly as he clothed himself, brought her attention to one very embarrassing fact.

"I've nothing to wear, Rupert. My frocks are in my guest room..."

"Put this on," he said, casually throwing her a delicate poplin gown that felt rather like the finest thing she had ever handled in her life save for the time when she helped the late Lady Derby dress for a ball. "It's a bit old fashioned, it belongs to my mother but it should fit you and I quite thought the color suited you." She blushed, running her fingers across the dark olive-green fabric. "Get it on then," he urged, pulling his breeches up about his waist and giving her a kiss on the forehead, "it's time."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rebecca had not wanted to stay, intimidated not only by the daunting grandness of the Duke of Edrington's private study but also fearful that perhaps things would not go as planned and she would be forced once again into Derby's servitude. But Rupert could be very persuasive and very comforting with his whispered words and his sturdy hand upon her shoulder. She was seated beside the fire, Rupert standing protectively by her side. His father sat behind his large oaken desk, Lady Edrington in the small seat in front of her husband's writing table and Mr. Blandish rigidly on his feet adjacent to her. Rebecca felt her heart give a small frightful leap when Anacombe stalked into the room followed by his haughty child bride and shrewish daughter.

"We have obviously worn out our welcome," said Derby through gritted teeth, his fists clenching and unclenching as he spoke. Rupert was pleased to see that the man had taken the brunt of their scuffle last night, his face bumped and bruised as if he had been trampled by a carriage. "We will take our leave, and I'll thank you very much to please return our son to us!"

After a short mockingly thoughtful silence, Declan replied simply, "No." Every jaw in the room dropped at the audacity of his save for the Duke, Rupert and Blandish's. "The boy is quite happy with his mother."

"And we want him restored to his mother," answered Lord Anacombe, indicating Hortense.

Declan laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. "His *real* mother," he clarified.

"You said no one would find out!" shrieked Hortense as Lucia burst into tears theatrically. "Bastard," she cried, hitting him again and again with her reticule until he took her hand in his meaty fist, squeezing until she cried out in pain and began to pout, ceasing her actions. The woman deserved it, Rebecca thought, surprised at her own lack of feeling; she was a ruthless social climber, a vulture who circled until the second Lady Anacombe had succumbed to her fever. She had smelled money and a title and had closed in as an adder striking. She had venomously tormented Rebecca, ill-treated and neglected Dickie as well as Derby's other children so it should have been no surprise that the governess felt no pity for the woman.

"And how are you going to stop me from taking him?" snarled Lord Anacombe. "Do you think that little bitch," he sneered at Rebecca and she felt Rupert's grip on her shoulder tighten, "has any valid claim on him?!"

"If you want to keep Redfern Estate, I would be carefully what you say, Derby," Declan replied coldly. He nodded towards Blandish, "Do remember why you are here. Clarence, if you will..."

Blandish retrieved with his pudgy little hands a few browning documents from his leather satchel. "I'm sure you are aware that these are the papers in which your first wife's dowry was settled, the same papers that you indeed came this year to try to bargain with Lord Edrington for again. For those of you who are not aware, these documents contain a lease agreement for the aforementioned Redfern Estate. Viscount Derby was judged by Elizabeth Danvers-Black's esteemed parents to be an unsuitable candidate for marriage for her had no prospects; a family name will not keep food in one's mouth let alone keep one in the luxurious manner they were accustomed to." The man paused to giggle a little at his remark; it was obvious he had no great love of Derby and was taking immense pleasure in all of this. "And so the illustrious Duke here, being so kind of heart and fond of his cousin, agreed to let you a considerable sum as well as your estate. He still holds the deed and the right to withdraw it at any time, especially now that his dearest cousin is passed."

The Viscount had gone ashen as the dead, his eyes gleaming with bloody murder, "You would evict us?" he shouted. "That's bloody blackmail!" Hortense had gone white and was mouthing wordlessly while Lucia continued with her melodrama, weeping and sobbing and begging for mercy.

"Indeed?" Declan evenly raised one fair eyebrow. "I suppose it is but well within my legal rights."

"Why not let the child himself decide?" suggested Lady Alicia innocently, a cunning smile crossing her lips. She beckoned to the private room adjacent and Dodo appeared, Dickie's hand in hers. The boy seemed to know, understand the enormity of the situation somehow as he glanced from one side of the room to the other as one would survey to warring factions upon a battlefield. "Now Richard," said Lady Edrington in her sweetest voice, bending so she could look the child in the eye, "your mummy needs your help. Will you help her?" Dickie nodded silently. "Good boy. Go to your mummy, Dickie, go to the mummy you want to stay with." Despite Hortense calling him and trying to lure him over with the promise of sweets and presents, without hesitation the toddler walked over to Rebecca and climbed onto her lap, burying his little head in her bosom. "I think we have our answer now," Alicia smirked coldly.

"You've not heard the last of this, you prick," Derby screamed, spittle flying from his mouth and his neck and face turning an alarming purplish-red color as a vein protruded prominently from his temple. "This is far from over, Declan!" he proclaimed but even he had to admit defeat for the moment.

"I'll see you out," Rupert sneered, "just to make sure they don't take anything of value of ours along with them 'in error.'" Hortense and Lucia lagged behind as the Earl lead them to the door where their carriage awaited them, the former angrily snapping out at the latter to be quiet as the girl stood at the verge of hysterics. "She told me you never pleased her," Rupert murmured to the Viscount in a mocking, self-satisfied undertone. "She said she found you and your skills...lacking."

"You little dick," Derby roared, lunging at Rupert who nimbly dodged out of the way of the blow, throwing one of his own which caught Anacombe between his jaw and his ear. "Enjoy your slut," he spat, "she was ever eager to spread her legs for me!" Edrington had had enough; perhaps he had meant to aim for the older man's stomach but whatever his target, he struck somewhat low, hitting the Viscount in a particularly sensitive area. It took Derby several minute to recover from the wallop, doubled over on the marble of the entrance's majestic stair as Hortense ran to urge him up, embarrassed at having her husband's defeat at the hands of such a young upstart witnessed by so many. Rupert took the opening to slip away quietly, still seething at Anacombe's comments.

"Thank you for everything you have done," Rebecca was telling the Duke and Duchess as Rupert rejoined his family. The mere sight of her as she turned to him and smiled lightened his heart and Derby was soon forgotten.

"There is yet one more surprise in store for you, my dear," Declan said kindly. He turned to Dodo, "Do tell the Hawkleys that we are ready." The girl bobbed her curly blonde head and disappeared for a moment, returning with three adult figures in tow. The first two through the door were a man and a woman, a couple dressed in what must have been their finest 40 years ago for now their wear was out-dated if of fine quality and somewhat faded. They had an air about them that told everyone in the room that they thought they were much more important than they actually were. They were followed by a second woman, middle aged and rather more casually dressed, though still obviously refined. "Mr. And Mrs. Hawkley, Miss Hawkley," the Duke introduced, "I'd like you to meet your granddaughter, Rebekah Shirrah. Rebekah, these are your grandparents and your aunt, Alice."

The older pair glanced around for a moment as if unsure who to look to but Aunt Alice spotted her immediately. "Can you not tell?" she asked her parents, approaching Rebecca. "She is so alike Gavin, the same kind eyes. Hello, Rebekah," she said, reaching out to gently touch her niece's face.

"Of COURSE!" Mrs. Hawkley cried out at once, running towards the girl and giving her a delicate kiss upon each cheek. "Our darling little Becky, give grand mummy a kiss! Oh, how sweet you are!" And how sweet, both Rebecca and Rupert thought, her situation as the betrothed to the heir to a duchy.

"Let us retire to the dining hall," Lady Alicia said, happily clasping her hands together. "I believe Cook has prepared us an excellent dinner for the occasion!"

As they slowly filed from the room, Rupert pulled Rebecca aside, kissing her passionately as his elegant hands encircled her waist, kneading lovingly like a cat. "Are you happy, my snow angel?"

"Entirely," she answered, her eyes filling with tears.

"I love you so."

"And I love you." They walked hand in hand to the dining chamber.


	9. Epilogue

"You're not supposed to see the bride before the wedding," Rebecca giggled, feeling the weight of the mattress incline slightly as Rupert sidled onto the bed next to her. She turned to face him, his amorous features glowing in the dim light of the dying fire, settling softly onto the hearth of the lovely guest chamber she had been given. He kissed her fervently. "It's bad luck!"

"And is there a superstition about fucking the bride before the wedding?" he smirked wickedly.

"Hmmm, let me think," she smiled, her words sneaking out between kisses as her hands quickly sneaked beneath his night skirt, stroking the sinew of his flat stomach, "perhaps 'the wedding will be nine months ahead of schedule?' Will that do?" she teased.

"Good God, woman," he chuckled huskily, leaning into her touch, "You're as naughty as I am!"

"You know," she continued playfully, her hand closing around his hardening cock and stroking vigorously, "I still haven't said yes."

He grunted, disengaging her hand and mounting her, sliding easily into her inviting, slippery warmth, feeling her sweet little cunny clasp his manhood deliciously. "You will," he laughed. "Tomorrow you will, and for the rest of our lives."

**The End**  



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